Once in Puerto Rico, I held on to a rock ledge for fourty five minutes, refusing to
jump into the lagoon below. My friends shouted encouragement and strangers
offered kind advice, until finally the man I loved crawled up the rock face and
stood behind me coaxing, “This is not a metaphor!”
He said this because he knew that I had already found a way to equate this failure
with all other failures, knew that my mind prison is a tangle of labyrinths, with
unwarranted symbolism around every stubborn corner. I laughed because it was
so accurate, and also because if I died going down those would be the last words I
heard.
Instead, I jumped and survived. And that night in bed he wrapped his arms around
me and whispered, “it was… a metaphor. Me, I am the metaphor. I climbed up
because I believe in you. Because I love you and I knew that you could do it.
Because I will climb up when you need me. Because you did need me.” And he
was already asleep before he could answer, leaving me to stalk my own hallways
for the meanings of the clutched rock, the shaking legs, the racing heart, the fall,
the smack, the coldest shock, and the man who climbed up to tell me to let go.
Not even a year later, he has moved into someone else’s body. And I am alone on
a beach in Washington. I have come here to hide from my sorrow. To try and
write poems that do not lead back to him. Instead, I find myself watching a pack
of young man throw stones into the air, before swinging giant bats of driftwood
smashing them into the water. The thwack, and pop, and plunk, echoing up and
down the otherwise empty beach.
And yes, the name of this beach is Useless Bay. And yes, the men are swinging as
hard as they can, of course. And yes, it is twilight. And yes, I am all alone. And I do
not want these metaphors. I would give them all back if I could. Even if it meant a
rainstorm would forever just be a rainstorm, a ladybug on my arm simply that.
Still, I would trade it for this relentless wait of meaning. This unfair promise of
always finding pattern where there need not be any - let the young men be just
young men, and not my heart forever swinging. Let the water be just water, and
not the vast loneliness, let the driftwood be driftwood, let the bay be unnamed.
Let the sunset not be my time running out but only the hour of the day. Only the
indication that bugs will soon be out. That the young men will pull on their
sweatshirts. That I should be heading home.
THE CHAOS
An integer (from the Latin integer meaning "whole")[note 1] is a number that can be
written without a fractional component. Integers are used in real life examples like
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This learning material will help students in learning and solving integers. we all
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instructional material is made of cardboard and most of the materials that is used